


Please Don't Take My Breath Away

by TheYellowKoala



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America, Angst, Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, Britain, Canada, Cold, Comfort, England - Freeform, Enjoy!, FACE Family, Family, Fluff, France - Freeform, Francis Bonnefoy - Freeform, Hockey, Hurt, I'm Sorry, I'm a cruel person, Maple, alfred f jones - Freeform, america is kinda ignorant, but only when i write, canada is hurt but tries to hide it, forgotten, hurt canada, i'd like to think i'm pretty nice otherwise, matthew williams - Freeform, okay that's enough tags, sorry - Freeform, that's canada in a nutshell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYellowKoala/pseuds/TheYellowKoala
Summary: After an accident that might've been prevented if he hadnt slipped the other nations minds, Matthew Williams, the personification of Canada struggles to hide his injuries sustained from the accident. He would do anything to prevent his family from worrying about him. But will it be enough?
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to my first Hetalia fic! Just a heads up, I like the idea of Canada speaking french when he's not fully aware. So, the translations for these phrases will be at the end of the chapter. Also, I like to think of Matthew & Alfred as brothers, nothing more. So, there will be no romantic references.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but apparently I am incapable of writing one-shots of an acceptable length, so this will be split into parts :)

Canada's skates glided effortlessly over the ice. Every time he would stop or make a hard turn, minuscule chrysalises of ice would fly out to the side, causing a snow-like powder to cover the frozen river's surface. There were two nets set up at either bank of the wide river, and several pucks littered the ice. The stick in the nation's hand felt familiar as he shot another puck toward the net.

After shooting his tenth puck, Matthew sighed in defeat. The sun shone down on him, making him uncomfortable in his jersey. It was warmer today than most winter days, but Matthew didn't mind too much - it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

That was exactly why Canada had invited some nations over to play hockey. It was going to be a warmer afternoon, but the temperature was supposed to drop drastically once the sun set, setting the perfect atmosphere for hot chocolate by the fire after some hockey. He thought it would set the perfect mood for the upcoming meeting with the nations.

But just his luck - it seemed as if everyone had forgotten.

"It's not the first time, you should be used to it by now." He grumbled to himself.

Although the rational part of his brain knew it was true, it still stung. It left a cavity in his chest - one that was formed a long time ago, and certainly wasn't going to be filled any time soon.

He sat down on the ice, tracing the skid marks left there by himself. His lungs filled with the crisp air, the kind that only appeared in winter, leaving your lungs feeling fresh and new.

Being forgotten wasn't new to Matthew Williams, it happened all too often. Even his own bear forgot he existed, muttering a "who are you?" before Matthew left for the river.

He knew it shouldn't affect him this much, lord knows he hates attention. Being given the spotlight was his worst nightmare. But part of him ached to have someone remember him, give him a call every so often to ask how he's doing, or even just for his name to be mentioned in passing conversation.

Although he knew that he could've just voiced what he was feeling, he never did. He knew he was insignificant, from the day he was born. His brother was always upstaging him, and he had this feeling that Britan and France had only kept him around for their amusement. Now those days were over, he was a nation now and no longer needed the care from his brothers. That meant that they no longer needed him either.

The only thought that comforted Matthew, was that if Alfred, Arthur and Francis had forgotten about him, they weren't worried about him.

He remembered the last time they worried about him. He had gotten into an accident, a stupid one, really. But he ended up breaking his ribs and left forearm. He skipped the meeting he was supposed to go to, and apparently, Alfred noticed he wasn't there. All three of the older nations came to tend to his wounds. And although you might think he should be happy they remembered him, he wasn't. They worried about him so much. He hated when they did that, the guilt and anxiety etched into their faces.

He shook the image from his mind. That's right, if they're not thinking about me they're not worrying.

*****

It was sometime later when Matthew had decided to pack up and head home. The sun peeked out from below the treeline, ready to descend below the horizon.

It was almost supper, and Canada knew he should get home to eat, he hadn't eaten since breakfast, the anxiety and excitement from the knowledge that others may be coming over for once preventing him from eating lunch.

He had already removed his skates and was now tossing the nets over to the side of the bank.

Although he had convinced himself that it was no big deal that the nations forgot him once again, one thought still plagued his mind.

Am I really that forgettable?

He kneeled down and started to gather up the pucks when he heard a crack. Small at first, almost unnoticeable, but becoming louder.

Shit

Matthew froze.

He dropped the pucks he was holding in his hands and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He looked below him and several white cracks traced the ice.

Panic washed over him and he found all attempts to remember what to do in the event of an ice-cracking futile. Was he supposed to spread out flat? Or stand up? Or run as fast as he could to the closest bank? He scoured every corner of his brain, but he could not remember what to do.

He sat there, paralyzed by fear. He longed that Kumajiro was there to get help, but he remembered that he had insisted the small bear stay home.

He looked around for anyone, anything that could help him when he spotted a branch. Sure, it didn't look sturdy and might break, but it was better than just sitting there.

He slowly started to stand, afraid to make the ice crack more.

His legs were shaking beneath him as he struggled to reach the branch. His fingertips brushed it and finally took hold. He lifted his legs off the ice and started shimmying his way over to the nearest bank.

This is going to work! He thought This is actually going to-

Snap

His thoughts were cut off abruptly as the branch above him broke. His back slammed into the ice, knocking any air he had left out of him.

Before he had a moment to think, the ice gave way underneath his pressure.

The icy waters stabbed his body with a thousand knives, and his breath which had already been taken away was somehow taken away again.

Canada desperately tried to grasp onto the ice around the hole where he had fallen through, but his efforts were to no avail.

The current was too strong, pulling him downstream and bashing his head against several rocks. His hands flailed wildly, trying to find something to prevent the current from pulling him farther away from the hole, but it seemed as if the river was fighting back, slamming his body against anything it could.

He was so focused on getting back to that hole, that he almost forgot, he couldn't breathe. His lungs burned and black crept into the corners of his eyes as he tried to grab onto something, anything to stop the current from taking him farther from the hole.

His thoughts were suddenly no longer about trying to get back to safety but to get air. He knew it would be foolish to open his mouth underwater, but right now, his lungs seemed to have another idea.

He opened his mouth and tried to take in air, but the icy water filled his mouth and lungs instead, burning his insides. He tried to cough it out, but more water just filled his lungs.

He struggled to claw his way up to the surface, but his attempts to escape were becoming weaker. His frozen limbs would no longer obey his brain.

If the young nation would've been thinking straight, he would've known that it's impossible for a nation to die of drowning.

But Matthew wasn't thinking straight. Right now, he wasn't the strong, friendly country of Canada, he was just Matthew. A forgotten mortal who was going to die at the hands of a frozen river. What a pathetic way to die.

He stopped struggling as he realized there was nothing he could do. Frozen water pooled in the bottom of his lungs and the black had started to take over his vision.

He was about to accept his fate when he saw something ahead through the black dots scattering his vision.

There was a break in the ice! With all his will-power, he started swimming up, toward the hole.

His hand was the first to break the surface, clumsily trying to grip the snow on the riverbank. His head was next, erupting from the surface like a mole would in those whack-a-mole games at the fair.

His hand gripped a root, and he half pulled, half rolled himself onto the river bank. When his whole body was out of the river, he found himself coughing and sputtering, water spilling out of his mouth onto the snow below.

He closed his eyes as his mouth kept expelling water, occasionally getting rid of any food he had in his system as well. His throat and lungs burned, and as much as he wanted to take in air, he found it hurt just as much as when he took in water.

He stayed on his side for a while, wheezing and coughing out more and more water. His limbs felt like lead and his wet clothes clung to him - making it seem even colder than it was. Once he was no longer expelling water every two seconds, he turned on his back.

The sky was dark and decorated with stars, although most were covered by thick clouds. The air seemed to have a harsher chill than it did before Matthew had fallen in, although he couldn't tell if that was because the temperature had dropped, or because he had just been drenched in freezing river water. He reasoned it was probably the latter.

He stared at the sky for a few more minutes, marvelling that his glasses, although cracked, had managed to stay on. He took short shallow breaths, as that was all he could manage. He knew he should try to get home, it would be better there, but he didn't think he could even take off his glasses, let alone walk all the way home from wherever he was.

Before he could think of anything else to do, his brain decided for him. The lack of oxygen invaded his eyes in the form of black spots, letting him know it was time to rest.

A little nap couldn't hurt, right?

*****

"Kumijaru, augmentes la chaleur, c'est l'hiver, mon dieu!"

At first, Matthew wasn't quite sure about his surroundings, something seemed off. There wasn't the usual aroma of maple that seemed to stick around the house or the warmth of Kumajiro by his side.

Then, as his consciousness slowly resurfaced, the first thing he noticed was that he was in absolute agony. He couldn't name a single part of his body that didn't hurt. His breaths were shallow and hurt to take in, made worse by the shivers that wracked his body. A strong throbbing was present behind his skull, although not as noticeable as the nausea that sat in his stomach. A small groan seeped past his lips, which turned into a louder moan, and eventually, a cry of pain

With much effort, he slowly pried open his eyes. He blinked a couple of times to clear his vision when he saw something that appalled him. He was laying in the snow, beside a frozen-over river.

"Comment...?" He mumbled.

He took a look at his surroundings. The nation was covered in a light dusting of snow, surrounded by frozen vomit that made his nose sting at the foul smell.

Then it all came back. The memories flooded him and overwhelmed his brain. He couldn't believe that had actually happened. I must be dreaming, he thought to himself. But as he felt the cold seeping in through his bones, and the soft gurgling sound breathed, he knew it was real.

He groaned once more.

He wished with all his might that someone would remember him and come check upon him. Then when they realized he wasn't home, they'd come here and scoop him up in their arms, give him a nice hot cocoa and tell him he'd be alright.

But as quick as that feeling of warmth had come from imagining his family, it had disappeared - replaced with guilt. He could tell that they were going to blame themselves, especially Alfred. He couldn't do that to them. He didn't want to see their faces contorted with guilt.

So, the thought came once again.

If they're not thinking about me, they're not worrying.

He stared at the sky, painted with yellows, pinks and oranges. Maybe he could just stay here forever, eventually become part of the snow. But he knew that wasn't an option, he had to get home to some warmth. Normally, Matthew would've taken a -25 day over a +30 day any day, but now all he craved was warmth, all different kinds. The warmth of his bear's skin, the warmth of his fireplace, the warmth of his family members when they used to have a movie night-

No. He wasn't allowed to think about that.

Tears threatened to spill down his pale cheeks, but he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't cry right now. Not like this.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do. But nothing could've prepared him for the excruciating pain that came when he tried to bring himself to his hands and knees.

A scream tore through his already raw throat and the dull throbbing pain behind his skull brought itself forth full force. He tried to draw in a breath, but that proved to be next to impossible. He squeezed his eyelids shut. Maybe he should just stay here. Someone would find him eventually.

He debated laying back down when a paralyzing thought crossed his mind.

The meeting. He was supposed to leave for a meeting with the nations tomorrow morning.

It was being held in Ottawa, a mere twenty-five minutes from his house, which meant that he was the one that was supposed to let everyone in. Surely someone would notice that he was missing?

He knew the thought was stupid, but he also knew that if there was any chance someone would remember him, that someone being Alfred, Arthur or Francis, he knew they would worry their head off. So he had to show up. But he couldn't not only show up, but he would also have to show up as if nothing happened.

So, If his calculations were right, he had twenty-four hours to get home, maybe take a nap, make it look like he was all better, then get to the meeting in Ottawa.

Right. That sounded reasonable. Except there was one problem. Matthew had no idea where he was.

He scanned his surroundings, trying to find a familiar landmark or even a familiar tree. But it was no use. With his muddled up brain and the way his lungs seared with pain every time he drew in a breath, Matthew was afraid he was never going to get home. And to be honest, that thought scared him.

He sat breathless on his hands and knees, trying to get his brain to work for two seconds so he could get home and calm his violent shivers that made it harder to breathe.

He kept trying to think of a way to find his way back home when a bout of nausea settled in his stomach and rose to the back of his throat.

Before he knew it, he was retching all over the snow in front of him. The acid burned his raw throat, making tears spill out of his eyes, blurring the world around him.

After his stomach had emptied out its contents, it didn't quite seem content. Therefore, Matthew was stuck dry-heaving on his hands and knees, sobs wracking his fragile body.

He finally took control of his stomach and was able to take a breath of much-needed oxygen. He was wiping his hand over his mouth when he caught sight of the water flowing beneath the river ice.

Of course! Why hadn't he thought of this before? If the river was flowing south, that meant he had to go upstream. He was sure he hadn't taken his hockey stuff in yet, so he'll be able to recognize that part of the forest from that.

He mustered the strength to get up to his feet. Matthew's body screamed in protest at the sudden movement. He used the side of a tree to help him stay stable, as black clouded over his eyes, and for a couple of moments, he was blind.

Finally, when his vision cleared, he realized he had to get moving. The effort it took to get to his feet left him out of breath, the shallow ones he was taking not meeting his brain's need for oxygen.

But he had to make it home to have enough time to heal before the meeting. Even if everyone was going to forget he even existed as soon as the young country got there, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk worrying his family.

And that's what fueled him. That's what made the weak boy take those steps closer and closer to his house.

He felt like his arms and legs were dragging giant chains, each movement spiking a new pain. He couldn't tell what might've been broken and what was just bruised, or if he had a concussion or not. Or why his lungs still weren't taking in air, despite his several coughing fits and the amount of water that had already exited his lungs.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he was cold, hurt, and could barely breathe. Those three things didn't seem very pleasant to Matthew. But he was sure that he would manage to be just fine himself by morning. And if not, he should be well enough to make himself presentable at the meeting tomorrow.

Just the thought of a meeting with the nations brought a mix of emotions. He was a little happy because he loved seeing his fellow nations, even if they didn't notice him. He also liked watching the funny things that went down. Then he was angry, because nobody noticed him, or cared to listen to his half-decent ideas. But he quickly repressed that emotion. He didn't deserve to be angry at them when they did nothing wrong. Then he felt dread, because the majority of the time, these things were the definition of boredom. But he also felt kind of, sad? He was always useless at these things, and he's pretty sure if the other nations could have their way, they would ban him from the meetings.

He was never helpful, or loud, or opinionated, or useful. He was just... Canada.

He started crying silent tears again. But this time, they weren't only because of the physical pain.

He was wallowing in his own sorrows when he looked up and saw something else that could make him cry. His hockey nets and skates were sitting right in front of him.

He collapsed onto the tree beside him, half because of relief, the other half because he wasn't sure how much longer his body could hold himself up anymore. His lungs ached and he was no longer taking shallow breaths, but wheezing instead. It felt as if he had just run one hundred kilometres

He lifted his head up toward his house. The river was practically in his backyard, it should be no problem getting to his house now.

Keyword: Should.

He opted to leave his hockey equipment outside. Considering he could barely carry the weight of himself, he thought it unwise to try and carry his hockey stuff in too.

He stumbled away from the forest. No longer having the support of the trees made it difficult for Matthew to walk, each step more agonizing than the last.

By the time he got to his door, he could hardly breathe. It felt like his lungs were still full of water, although he knew they weren't. He fumbled for the door handle, his vision narrowing.

"Come on..." He mumbled as he jerked the handle around.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door finally burst open, startling Matthew who practically fell in.

He shut the door behind himself and leaned against it. He inhaled the sweet smell of maple and he was so relieved he could cry. He desperately wanted to collapse right there, it felt like years since he had last been in his home. But he knew he would be so much more comfortable in his warm bed, with the fireplace on, so he had to get to his room.

"Canada?" Matthew heard a voice call from somewhere in his house. It seemed like it was far away, but the nation couldn't tell because the black dots had blocked him from seeing. His hand suddenly slipped from its spot on the door handle, and Matthew fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of chapter one folks! I asked around to see what people preferred, and most said they would rather 6 3 000 word chapters than 3 6000 word chapters, so that's what I'm doing. I'm hoping to update weekly and seeing as I already finished the second chapter, I should be able to stay on track.
> 
> "Kumajiro, augmentes la chaleur, c'est l'hiver, mon dieu!" - "Kumajiro, turn up the heat, it's winter, my god!"  
> "Comment..?" - The direct translation is "How..?", but in this sense, it means, "What..?" but now that I think about it, it could be either.
> 
> All of the french parts were written by me, using my knowledge of french. I think I'm pretty good at it, but that doesn't mean I'm fluent! Please correct any mistakes!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! Enjoy! I forgot to add warnings for the last chapter, but I don't think it was really needed. Not many warnings for this chapter, but if you're grossed out by vomit, I would proceed with caution.

When Matthew awoke, he saw a soft bear leaning over his face through squinted eyes. When had it gotten so bright? He also felt something soft behind his head, a pillow, most likely. The ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing what his bear was saying, but he could tell Kumajiro was concerned. At least that face wasn’t Alfred’s.

“-happened?” Was all that Matthew caught once the ringing in his ears had subsided.

The bear’s words had barely registered with Matthew, he was trying to focus on his breathing, and not throwing up for the seven billionth time that day.

He wondered if throwing up too much could be bad for you. It probably was, I mean, it definitely couldn’t be good for you.

“Come on, you don’t look good, let’s get you in some dry clothes.” His bear said, instead of pressing further on the matter.

Matthew hummed in response. Dry clothes, that sounded good.

Kumajiro rushed away to find some soft pyjamas for Matthew to sleep in.

Oh, man. If I can’t even get myself into bed, how am I supposed to attend the conference tomorrow? He quickly pushed the thought aside. He couldn’t think about that. Right now he needed to focus on getting at least a little better for tomorrow morning.

He pondered over his symptoms for a moment. He might have a concussion, but the throbbing headache could just be from a cut on his forehead. His constant state of nausea could be from his headache, which was very likely. He knew that his heavy arms and legs were probably just the result of being bashed around the bottom of the river like a rag doll. And his shivering was likely just a small bit of hypothermia, which he would be able to fix with some blankets and soft pyjamas. Lastly, him having trouble breathing could have something to do with water still being in his lungs, although it seemed by now he had expelled the whole ocean.

As if on cue, another round of harsh coughs racked his body, and he ended up spluttering out more water.

Great. He thought

He felt weak, pathetic. A puddle on the floor. He scoffed, he couldn’t even make it past his front door without collapsing.

“Here.” The voice of Kumajiro brought Matthew back from his thoughts.

“Merci- I mean thanks.” Matthew managed to mutter. Sometimes he spoke a little french around the house, that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Matthew tried to reason with himself that this was normal, and he would be fine in the morning.

Somehow, probably because of his delirious state, he managed to sit up and slip his pyjamas on, although it took a great deal of effort on his part.

He felt much better once his wet clothes were off, he didn’t realize they had been aiding in chilling his frigid body further, but now he was eternally grateful. Whoever invented dry clothes was a genius! He proudly proclaimed in his head, not quite fully understanding what he was thinking.

By the time he got them on, he was out of breath and his oxygen-deprived brain could barely tell what was going on around him anymore. He knew one thing, he had to get to bed. Once he had a good night's sleep, he would be able enough to go to the conference in the morning.

He shuffled to his room on his hands and knees, unable to do more than that. He had to pause a couple of times to catch his breath and cough out whatever seemed to be irritating his lungs before he arrived at his room, but when he did, he was so overwhelmed with relief and exhaustion.

His sore muscles were able to pull himself into his soft bed, and he curled up in the layers of Blankets the Kumajiro must’ve put there. It was only noon, but Matthew felt like he had been awake for days.

He curled up in his mountain of blankets, and let his mind drift away.

*****

Unfortunately, his state of slumber didn’t last for long. He awoke sometime later to excruciating pain in his lungs and stomach. The nausea had taken over and he hurled into the bowl that Kumajiro had kindly left beside his bed.

He thought that he had already gotten rid of everything in his stomach, but it seemed as if he hadn’t.

Once his spewing session was over, his lungs decided they needed a turn. A harsh coughing fit shook his whole body as he expelled both water and mucus. Something uncomfortable rattled inside his chest as he was hacking away.

He noticed that he was still cold, so he fumbled for the remote that controlled his heat pump on the nightstand beside his bed. He pressed the up arrow until it couldn’t go up anymore.

Perfect He thought.

His frozen body settled into the blankets as more, weaker coughs continued to wrack his weak figure.

He closed his eyes again, hoping that sleep would come. And it did, but only for a while, before he woke up once again, and repeated the same routine.

This happened multiple times throughout the day and night. He would wake up, throw up anything left in his stomach, sometimes he would just dry-heave, then a bout of wet coughs would wrack his weak frame.

It happened again and again, but it seemed that each time he woke up was more painful than the last.

He woke up once more and took a look at his alarm clock through blurry eyes. The green numbers hurt his eyes, but he was able to make out 5:30 am.

Although the meeting wasn’t supposed to start until nine, Matthew figured it would take him a while to get ready, and he didn’t think he was lucky enough to get anymore shut-eye.

He slowly rose from his bed, careful not to aggravate anything, but he knew that was next to impossible. He sat up and more wet coughs bubbled up from deep within his chest. He hacked into his elbow for a few minutes before trying to get up. He wheezed in and out, his lungs making a small whistling noise.

Matthew figured he had only gotten about three to four hours of actual sleep, while the rest of the time in his bed was spent coughing, puking, shivering, and tossing and turning. He used his weak arms to push himself up to his feet and black crept in from the corners of his eyes to cloud his vision. He had barely noticed the throbbing headache, but now it hit him full force, accompanied by a loud ringing.

Somehow, he managed to stumble to his washroom to get a good look at himself.

He bent over the bathroom counter, resisting the urge to throw up again. His wheezes had become worse, and more noticeable. That couldn’t be good.

Matthew spared a glance at the shower, wondering if it would make him feel better, but the way his weight was so precariously balanced between his arms and legs, he was afraid that if he tried to take a shower, he would end up falling and injuring himself further. He didn’t need that right now.

He took a deep breath, or as deep a breath as his lungs would let him take, and looked up in the mirror.

He cringed as his vision cleared. Matthew looked as if he had just been trampled by a herd of moose, then tossed over the edge of a cliff. His large sweater hid any of the cuts and bruises on his body, but he knew they were there. Smaller cuts and bruises littered his entire face, but that wasn’t what his eyes were drawn to. Blood was caked around a huge cut on his forehead, the traces of dry blood on the side of his face.

He snatched a face cloth off the counter beside the sink and turned the tap on to wet it. He flinched every few seconds as he tried to get the blood off without pressing too hard on the bruises.

Once the dry blood was mostly gone from his face, he took some disinfectant and started applying it to the wound. In normal circumstances, he would’ve tried to stitch it up to the best of his abilities, but with his hazy state and the way his hands were trembling, he dismissed the idea. He placed some skin coloured band-aids on the cut, hoping the colour and the way his bangs hid his forehead wouldn’t alert anyone.

Matthew knew he couldn’t go into the meeting with the huge bags under his eyes and the cuts and bruises covering his face, but there was also no way the cuts and bruises would be gone by the time he got to the meeting.

He clumsily opened a drawer and rummaged through it. He finally found the bottle of foundation he had bought a couple of months ago to hide the bags under his eyes.

The young nation squeezed the tube onto his shaky fingertips and started applying it to his face. It hurt a lot more than he thought it would to apply the makeup, but it had to be done.

He opened another cupboard and took some Tylenol, as well as putting some in a ziplock bag for later. He hoped that would be enough to make him feel at least a little better.

His suit for the day was on the back of his bathroom door. He stiffly shuffled over, using the wall to help him not collapse right then and there. Matthew reached up to grab his suit off the hangar as a couple coughs bubbled up his throat, aggravating his aching lungs.

He got the suit off the door and headed to the sink again as more wet coughs wracked his body. He leaned over the sink and ended up coughing up a wad of mucus. He looked down at the gross body fluid in the sink and turned on the tap.

He suppressed the bile that was quickly rising in his throat and tenderly started to remove his pyjamas and get into the stiff suit that he would be wearing for the rest of the day. His sore muscles protested the movement, and several groans escaped past his pursed lips.

Once Matthew was in his suit, he looked at himself in the mirror. Sure, he looked a bit frazzled, but he admired how normal he looked. He wet his hands and tried to tame his hair a bit more, but other than that, he looked like himself, like nothing had even happened.

With a satisfied nod, he shuffled out of his room, careful not to rattle his nauseous stomach even more than he already would. A couple more coughs escaped past his firmly pressed lips and shook his chest. He needed to learn how to control his coughs, or else someone might notice. He scolded himself.

When he entered the kitchen, his bear was sitting at the table. Matthew eyed the food his bear was shovelling into his mouth and remembered that he hadn’t eaten anything since the day before last. Although Matthew knew he should eat something, the events from the previous night and the nausea settled in the pit of his stomach reminded him why he wasn’t eating. Just the thought of eating something made the bile ride up to his throat.

His bear, once again, didn’t realize he was there. So he grabbed his bag full of papers for the meeting and headed toward his car. It was still quite early yet, but hopefully, if he was there before everyone else, there would be less of a chance that people would notice him.

He opened the door, and the cold air slammed into him, along with the brightness of the snow that amplified his headache and made him squint.

Normally, Matthew loved the cold air and how refreshing it was, but now it stung to breathe in, leaving him breathless as soon as he stepped out the door. He didn’t realize how warm it was inside until he opened the door. He started shivering again, and the cold came back like it had never left.

He put his hand over his eyes and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, trudging to his car through the snow that seemed to have gotten deeper.

He opened the door of his car and turned on the heat, turning the knobs all the way to the right. In the moment, he hadn’t realized that it would take a while for the heat to come on, and right now it was just cold air blowing in his face.

So he sat there, shivering and struggling to take in air. More coughs erupted from his lungs and tears started to form at the corner of his eyes. All he wanted to do was lay in his warm bed surrounded by blankets.

But he quickly shook the thought from his head. He couldn’t miss this meeting. It was probably just a bad cold that he caught from almost drowning. That had to be it, nothing he should miss the meeting over.

Once the heat finally started filtering through the air ducts, Matthew took the car out of park and shifted the stick into drive. He hadn’t shovelled his driveway yet, but his car functioned pretty well in the snow, so he saw no reason to shovel it anytime soon. He also thought that if he tried shovelling it now, he would end up collapsing.

So he got out on the road and started heading to the building where they would be meeting.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, afraid that if he loosened up a bit, so would his brain, and he would slip away from reality. He couldn’t afford to get into a car accident, he didn’t want to hurt some random pedestrian, so he had to pay as much attention as his probably concussed head could.

Matthew couldn’t help his wandering thoughts, however. Why was he even doing this? Taking the effort to make sure no one knew or even going. He knew no one would miss his absence. He could’ve gone early in the morning to unlock the door, then headed straight home. Instead, his stupid brain insisted he went to not worry anyone.

They wouldn’t worry anyway. A small voice in the back of his head spoke.

He tried to convince himself it wasn’t true, but deep down, he knew. He knew that the countries could care less about whether he died or not. Actually, if he did, he doubted they would even shed a tear.

A silent tear slipped down Matthew’s cheek.

He was suddenly jerked out of his depressive thoughts as a deer hopped across the road. He swerved to the side, narrowly missing it. He took control of the wheel, trying to control his racing heart.

He would’ve tried taking deep breaths, but that proved to be impossible. So he focused all his attention on the road instead, forcing himself not to think anymore, which was easier than it seemed.

*****

Canada arrived at the meeting earlier than anyone else, so he took his time making his way up the short staircase to unlock the door. Once he got to the top, he was out of breath, leaning against the door with closed eyes, wheezing.

He fumbled in his pocket for the keys and unlocked the door, stumbling inside and slowly shuffling to the first meeting room. It was due to start in half an hour. The young country sat down in his spot and took out his bag.

The young nation had just realized now how much the medication had helped. His headache was reduced to a dull throbbing and his nausea had dwindled to an almost bearable level. 

The only thing it didn’t help was his lungs. He figured if he stayed still enough, he wouldn’t need to breathe as much, and his wheezing would calm down somewhat.

Slowly, but surely, the nations filtered into the room, barely giving Canada a second glance. Normally, Matthew would’ve been a little disappointed that no one had noticed him, but today the only thing he felt was relief. He tensed up as Britain and France entered the room, the former smacking the latter over the head with a book.

Well, at least they’re preoccupied. Canada thought to himself.

Finally, when the meeting was about to commence, America entered the room, earning a large eye roll from Britan.

“I’m here!” Alfred boomed.

Matthew winced at his loud voice but didn’t articulate his pain.

“I can’t believe you guys almost started the meeting without me!” Alfred pouted

“I can,” Arthur grumbled at the younger nation’s arrogance.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now anyway. Who’s ready for the greatest proposal of all time, brought to you by yours truly, the hero!” He dropped his folders on the pedestal at the head of the room

The other nations responded by quiet grumbles, France even muttering a “me tues maintenant.”

As usual, America didn’t have a care in the world. He spoke with a loud authority, often getting sidetracked.

“-so then, he was all like, ‘Come on, we could really use another runner!’ And I was all like, ‘but isn’t stealing pizza illegal?’ then he was all like, ‘there’s not a law for it, believe me, I’ve checked!’ So then when I thought about it, it turned out he was right! There’s no law saying stealing pizza is illegal!” He enunciated every word by tapping his forefinger on the pedestal, then proceeded to throw his hands up in the air. “So I agreed to join, and now I steal pizzas in my free time! Isn’t that so dope?”

Matthew saw Arthur bury his head in his hands out of the corner of his eye.

“Alfred, I’m pretty sure stealing pizza is in fact, illegal,” Arthur stated.

“But it’s not! I even checked on the official government site of America! Although I’m pretty sure it’s been hacked by a twelve-year-old…” Alfred trailed off.

“Exactly you dim-wit!”

The loud voices of the two nations bickering increased the volume of the ringing in Matthew’s ears, it was all he could do to not spew over everything. So instead of listening to the other countries and taking notes like he should’ve been doing, he just sat there, focusing on looking like he was alright. 

After the shouting match between Britain and America, the rest of the nation droned on, talking about subjects that Matthew could care less about at the moment.

The voices of the others filled the background like a white noise machine, so when Germany stood up and said, “Meeting adjourned!” Canada felt like he was going to cry in relief. The first day only lasted for four hours, but it felt like it had lasted for so much longer.

Now, all he had to do was get home, and he could go to bed. 

He waited for the other countries to leave before he attempted to get up himself. His muscles still felt stiff, and he erupted into a fit of harsh coughs that left him leaning over his chair. It looked like his lungs needed to make up for the coughs he had suppressed during the meeting.

Once he finally got control of his coughs, he slowly exited the room, his arms and legs feeling like they were made out of lead.

He got out of the room and blinked away the spots in his eyes when the worst thing that could ever happen, happened.

“Hey! Mattie!”

Matthew suppressed a groan and managed to put on a fake smile.

“So, it seems like a nice day out, for Canada,” He exaggerated, “and while I was driving here, I remembered how much you like hockey! So I thought we could go to play hockey together!”

Matthew stood there, dumbfounded. His brother not only remembered he existed, but also remembered he liked hockey. Not that it was a secret, but it was incredible that 

Alfred actually wanted to hang out with him.

Matthew was about to say yes when a cough bubbled up his throat. He managed to keep it down, but he felt how sore his lungs were.

“Sorry, but-”

America completely ignored Matthew.

“I invited Arthur and Francis to come too, but I don’t know if they’ll actually come…”

“Thanks so much for the offer, Alfred, but-”

“No problemo! Come on, let’s get out of here and play some hockey!”

Alfred’s ignorance left Canada feeling helpless. He wanted to go play hockey, but even he knew he was in no shape to do anything of the sort.

He wanted to yell at Alfred as he was being dragged to his car, saying, “I’m sick!” But then the thought of Alfred’s worried face was brought to the front of his mind. He couldn’t let down his brother, he would just have to suck it up.

By the time they got down to Alfred’s car, Matthew was wheezing and trying to take in more air, but it wouldn’t come. His headache had returned and it was worse than before the meeting, so he fished in his pocket for the Tylenol he had brought.

He was still digging in his pocket as he got into the car, panic seizing his heart. He must’ve left the medication at home. His skin got a shade whiter, if that was even possible.

His head fell back against the headrest of the front seat. Just breathe. He thought to himself. Matthew listened to his brother talk enthusiastically about some new topic, but Matthew wasn’t listening, he was focused on getting home and taking some medication.

*****

They arrived at Matthew's house in no time, as a result of Alfred’s reckless driving. The older of the two jumped out of the car and practically ran to the trunk, probably to get out some hockey equipment.

Matthew reached his hand up and opened the car door, suppressing yet another fit of coughs. He stood up and waited a moment for the dark spots to clear his eyes, the proceeded to follow his brother to the back of the car.

The young nation leaned up against a nearby tree for support as he watched his brother unload skates and goalie gear from the trunk.

Matthew wondered if America had remembered the invitation he had sent out earlier that week, but his hopes were quickly smothered. If Alfred had remembered, he would’ve at least said sorry to Matthew, then told him this was a way to make it up to him. But he didn’t.

Matthew wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was nice that his brother had remembered he liked to play hockey and was nice enough to offer to play with him. But it was disappointing that Alfred hadn’t remembered the game he was supposed to attend two days ago. He supposed it was bitter-sweet.

“Heads up!”

The voice of his brother jerked him out of his thoughts as he saw a black puck hurdling for him. Unfortunately, his tired limbs weren’t able to catch the puck before it hit him square in the gut.

Matthew stumbled back, the blow knocking all of the air out him and clouding his vision with black. His legs gave way as he stumbled to the ground, desperately trying to take in air that wouldn’t come, a loud ringing filling his ears.

He clawed at the snow as if that would somehow return the air to his lungs. He felt like he was under the ice again, unable to take in air, the icy waters paralyzing.

As if not being able to breathe was painful enough, he started coughing, hacking. It wasn’t like before, it was so, so much worse. It no longer felt like he was trying to cough something out of his lung, but like he was trying to cough his lung out of his chest.

His limbs became weak, and his eyelids felt weighed down. He collapsed onto his stomach, a white-hot flash of pain taking his consciousness away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's chapter two! Left you guys on a bit of a cliffhanger, eh? I was hoping to update weekly, but next week's chapter might be a little delayed, as I haven't finished writing it yet. Unfortunately, schoolwork takes priority. No worries though, you won't have to wait for more than two weeks for chapter three.
> 
> "me tues maintenant." - "kill me now."
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who gave kudos, and a HUGE thank you to those who left reviews/comments, you have no idea how much those make my day when I see them.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all of the love this story is getting, I really appreciate it! It makes me feel good :). Don't be afraid to reach out if you have any questions for me about the story, or suggestions for other stories. I have a couple of ideas that are in the planning stages right now, I hope to be able to share them with you soon!
> 
> (Edit: also I just noticed that the notes for the end of chapter one are also at the end of this chapter? Idk how to fix it, so just ignore it. Sorry.)
> 
> (Edit 2: Never mind! I fixed it. Sorry for any inconvenience that might've caused you.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After two weeks, here's chapter three!
> 
> *Disclaimer* I should've said this before, but all my medical knowledge comes from mayo clinic, WebMD and CIHI. So, I apologize if there is wrong information in there.

Alfred carelessly tossed the hockey equipment out of the trunk onto the snowbank beside him. He was so proud of himself for thinking of Matthew. He knew his little brother got ignored a lot—he wasn’t blind—but he couldn’t say he didn’t contribute to the problem. He was over the moon when he realized that his trunk was full of hockey equipment. Although he didn’t remember how it got there, he did remember Matthew loved hockey and they were in Canada. It was perfect!

He tossed all sorts of things out of the trunk, skates, jerseys, pads, sticks, you name it, he had it! He wasn’t sure what Matthew had and what he didn’t—although it was probably likely he had all this stuff already—so he opted to take it all out of the trunk.

He dug in the back for the last of the stuff, the pucks, and threw them out one at a time.

“Heads up!” 

Without thinking, Alfred tossed a puck at Matthew, intending for him to catch it. So when Matthew doubled over in agony, Alfred stopped in his tracks.

He watched in disbelief as his brother stumbled back, clutching his stomach, then fell to his knees with a thud. Alfred gaped at his brother, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound dared to escape his lips.

Matthew was hunched over on his hands and knees, spluttering over the snow. Deep wet coughs coming from deep within his lungs.

The sights of red speckles on the snow drew Alfred from his trance. He let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and raced toward Matthew.

He knelt beside his brother, unaware of the cold snow that was soaking through the fabric of his pants. He hesitantly reached out toward the hacking figure, drawing back his hands as Matthew collapsed onto his stomach.

“M—Mattie?” Alfred croaked. His brother lay unmoving before him, a stark contrast to the figure that seemed to be hacking up a lung just moments earlier.

He reached down again, giving a slight nudge to the young nation. 

No response.

He tried again, shaking his brother’s shoulders a bit harder.

No response.

“Mattie?” He said again, this time a bit louder. Panic seized his heart, his brother still lay motionless on the ground.

Alfred latched his hand onto Matthew’s shoulder, prepared to turn him onto his side. He hesitated for a moment, his breath hitching in his throat, afraid what he would see. The image of his brother's pale face, features slack and eyes glazed over haunted the strong nation. He was mortified that the face he would see would be waxen and lifeless. He didn’t want that to be the face of his brother he remembered.

Shit.

The realization dawned on him.

Unlike that pillow Alfred had just bought from Ikea a couple of weeks ago, snow was definitely not breathable.

All fears now thrown out the window, Alfred wrenched his hand under Matthew’s shoulder and forced him to his back.

He gasped when he caught sight of his brother. His skin was as pale as the snow covering his face and the clumps stuck in his hair. Specks of bright red on his chin stood out against his pasty complexion.

Alfred took a look at his brother’s mid-section, his chest shakily rising and falling. Although it looked as if Matthew was alive, Alfred jabbed his fingers to the young nation’s neck, just to be sure. It took a while, but Alfred’s frozen fingers finally found a pulse. It was slow, too slow. And it was weak, impossible to find if you didn’t press hard enough.

He took his trembling hand from off of his brother’s neck and removed his brother's glasses, then proceeded to brush the snow off of his brother’s face with his hands. He cleaned the glasses with the edge of his coat, then placed them back over Matthew’s closed eyes.

“Okay,” Alfred muttered to himself. He sat back in the snow, shocked at what had just happened, “Okay.”

He rested his elbows on his bent up knees and clutched one hand in the other. He wanted to look elsewhere, but all he could look at was his brother, on the ground and barely breathing. A small whistling sound could be heard when Matthew tried to breathe, obvious that it must be taking all of his efforts just to draw in a breath.

How did this happen? Alfred asked himself. He knew that Matthew didn’t have the best reflexes, but he had never reacted like, like that. Sure, he had never thrown a puck at Matthew before, but that couldn’t be any worse than the large rock he accidentally threw at Matthew a while ago, right? Right!?

All the evidence suggested that it wasn’t Alfred’s fault, that there must have been some other factor that made Matthew react like that, but Alfred’s mind kept going back to the same conclusion. 

It was his fault.

If he had been considerate enough to not biff a puck at Matthew, maybe this wouldn’t have happened, and maybe they would be out back, playing a nice game of hockey.

Alfred hung his head between his knees. 'God, why do I have to be so impulsive?' 

He must have been very strong to make Matthew cough up blood, he made a mental note to himself to keep his strength in check next time. 

'If there is a next time,' a small voice in the corner of his head whispered menacingly in his ear.

He tried to gulp down the lump in his throat. He couldn’t think like that. Matthew would make it through, he had to. No nation had ever died due to an accident like that. But what if Matthew was the first. Sure, it seemed impossible, but what if—

Alfred’s head darted up as he heard a slight cough erupt from Matthew.

“Mattie!” Alfred scrambled to his feet, promptly falling back to his knees beside his brother.

A couple more coughs made their way to the surface, accompanied by a bit of mucus.

Alfred tried to remember what to do in situations like these, but he could barely recall what the characters do in the movies, let alone real first-aid training.

He wasn’t sure what to say either. What were you supposed to say? Hurry up and finish so we can have a two-way conversation. That didn’t sound very comforting.

He settled for muttering a string of “It’s okay,” and, “Oh, Mattie.”

He kept his eyes locked on Matthew’s closed lids, willing for them to open, even if it was just for a second. He needed to know that the young nation was going to be okay, for real.

As if someone had heard his pleas, Alfred watched as Matthew blinked open his eyes, unseeing at first, Matthew locked eyes with Alfred.

“Wha—” Matthew tried to say, his voice sounding breathy.

“Hey, are you okay?" Alfred questioned, concern lacing his voice, "What the hell was that?”

“Tabernak,” the younger nation swore under his breath. Matthew propped himself up on his elbows and managed to get in a sitting position against the trunk of a nearby tree. He took a moment to let out a few more coughs, wiping his chin off on the back of his sleeve, “Um, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“You’re fine!? Mattie, you just collapsed in front of me!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Matthew scratched the back of his head, “I’m fine now, though,” he assured.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one that chucked the puck at you! I didn’t mean to throw it that hard, I guess I was just excited, but that’s certainly no excuse, I really shouldn’t’ve…”

“It’s—” a cough bubbled up Matthew’s throat and escaped, “It’s not your fault.”

Alfred looked down at Matthew and let out an exasperated sigh, “It’s not my fault! Mattie, of course it’s my fault! You can’t deny it. I’m really, really sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and I—”

Matthew waved his hand up to catch Alfred’s attention. “Look, as much as I’m loving this conversation,” Matthew wrung his hands together, “could we maybe take it inside? It’s a little chilly.”

Alfred froze, “Oh my god. I’m such an idiot. We’ve been out here for ages! I could’ve gotten you inside way sooner than this, it’s not like I can’t carry you. But no, instead I had to wallow here in my own misery, watching you freeze!”

“Alfred, please.”

Alfred glanced down to his brother, pleading present in his gaze. “Right. Right. C’mon.”

The personification of the US offered a hand to his younger brother, who refused and struggled to stand up using the tree. He got his feet underneath him and put all his weight on the tree.

Alfred cocked an eyebrow, his arms folded across his chest. He was ready to offer Matthew his arm as soon as he accepted the reality that he needed help.

Despite Alfred’s offer of aid, Matthew was stubborn. He stood against the tree, his quivering hand holding up one finger and his chest rising and falling with much effort.

“C’mon Mattie, just let me help you,” Alfred said, offering his hand to Matthew once again.

“No, no. I can do this,” the young nation was out of breath, his words filled with air instead of sound. 

Alfred watched on with doubt as his brother slowly pushed away from the tree he was leaning so heavily on. He took a step forward into the snow, his fingers leaving the bark. 

Alfred took sight of his eyes, they looked clouded over, unseeing, confused, “Hey, look at me,” he encouraged.

His brother raised his head to meet Alfred’s gaze, but he found that his brother could not focus on his eyes. Panic rose in Alfred’s throat again, “Mattie, can you see?”

“Yeah, I’m just… a little dizzy. My vision should clear up soon, it’s not—” Matthew’s words died in his throat as he fell forward. Alfred saw it coming, he thrust his arms forward and caught the younger nation by his arms.

Alfred eyed him up and down, “Yeah. You’re not walking.”

Matthew tried to retort, “But-”

“No buts. C’mon, I’m gonna carry you.”

Alfred swept his arms under Matthew’s legs, picking him up with little effort. It reminded him when they were both under Britain’s rule, he would carry Matthew around bridal-style, shouting ‘I’m the hero!’ any chance he could get.

“Al, you really don’t have to—”

“Stop it.”

Matthew fell quiet.

Alfred felt his little brother lean his head against his chest, the older knew that was the sign his brother had given in. He saw his brother’s breath come out in small puffs due to the cold weather, but they were uneven, coming out in short puffs instead of steady exhales.

He stole a worried glance at his northern neighbour. How did he let this happen?

They arrived at the front door, and Alfred realized he couldn’t open the door without putting Matthew down, which he didn’t want to do.

“Mattie, do you think you could, um,”

“Yeah,” Matthew reached out to the doorknob and pushed. The door opened with ease into an empty house, the smell of maple syrup wafted towards them, just like normal.

Alfred carefully placed Matthew down onto the bench beside the front door, turning around for a moment to take his own jacket and hat off.

He slid open the closet door and grabbed a wooden coat hanger, sliding his coat onto it and replacing it onto the wooden bar. He held out his hand to grab Matthew's jacket when he realized he was holding his hand out to air. He turned back around to see Matthew, who was struggling to take off his jacket himself.

“Here, let me help,” Alfred offered.

“No, I don’t need help,” despite Matthew’s stubbornness, Alfred took Matthew’s jacket off with little resistance from the latter.

Alfred scooped his brother up again, this time, he took the offering willingly. 

As Alfred was carrying his brother, he couldn’t help but notice Matthew felt lighter than usual. With his coat on, it was unnoticeable. But now that it was off, he thought he seemed lighter. It could’ve been because Alfred had gotten stronger, but something just felt—off. He elected to ignore it, it was probably nothing. 

He walked over to the living room and dropped his brother on the red couch. He grabbed a heavy blanket from off the back of the couch and placed it over his brother’s fragile figure, receiving a soft thanks in response.

“I’m gonna go make us some hot chocolate, that should warm you up,” Alfred said, leaving no room for retaliation.

“You don’t need—”

“Mattie! Sure, maybe I don’t need to help you, although the situation suggests otherwise,” he grumbled the last part under his breath, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to! I want to help, Mattie. I want to get you hot chocolate. Just let me help you.”

Matthew hung his head, “Sorry.”

“No, Mattie,” Alfred let out a sigh, “Just let me help you, okay?”

Matthew gave a small nod, and Alfred realized that would be all he was getting, so he accepted that as a sign of defeat.

His brother had always been like this, always putting other’s needs before his, never accepting help from others, even if he really, really needed it. It seemed nice on the exterior, but to people who were close to him, it was insufferable.

His passive nature sometimes got him in trouble with others, mostly humans. But it was also his passive nature and kind soul that made him friends with all of the other nations. All of them. It seemed as if there was not one nation that even mildly disliked Matthew. And that’s saying something, seeing as there are almost two-hundred countries in the world.

Alfred was bent down to see the contents of the cupboard below the counter, looking for a kettle to heat the milk with. He found one and placed it on the stove, heading to the fridge to grab the milk.

He scanned the shelves and his eyes landed on a blue pitcher, inside was a bag of some white substance that was presumably milk.

Alfred called out to the living room, “Mattie, why in the name of freedom is your milk in a bag?”

The response was a spell of well-timed coughs.

Alfred shook his head and let the corners of his lips turn up in a small smirk. He knew that was all the response he was going to get from his brother, considering he could barely talk, let alone yell out to the kitchen.

He poured the milk into the kettle struggling to keep the bag from slipping out of the pitcher. How does Mattie do this every day? Alfred asked himself.

Once there was a substantial amount of milk in the silver kettle, he turned the knob and let the milk heat up. He found the hot chocolate powder and got some marshmallows.

He leaned against the counter, waiting for it to boil. He could just see the top of Matthew’s head, disappearing for a couple of seconds as a bout of harsh coughs racked his small frame.

Alfred watched his brother with sympathy, but also guilt. Now that they were safe inside, the guilt consumed him, slowly eating at him from the inside. He should’ve never chucked the puck at his brother, what was he thinking? He expected it to pass, assuming he just knocked the wind out of his brother, but it didn’t, and his brother was still hacking away on the couch.

The magnitude of the situation weighed down on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how being hit in the puck could produce such a reaction, but he knew it did. Matthew was fine before, right?

Alfred paused.

Now that he thought about it, Matthew had been a little more resistant to playing hockey, normally he would’ve just offered a nod. But this time, he actually spoke back. At the time, Alfred had thought nothing of it, but maybe it pointed to a problem. Lord knows Matthew would never outright say something was wrong.

Alfred glanced over at the kettle, which was now boiling. He snapped out of his trance and turned the burner off, grabbing two mugs from the overhead cupboard. America poured the steaming liquid into the two mugs and added some hot chocolate powder, an extra spoon full for himself because he loved chocolatey hot chocolate.

He sprinkled some mini marshmallows on top for good measure, then grabbed the two mugs by the handles and headed back to the living room.

He entered the living room to see Matthew bundled up in two blankets, he must’ve snatched a second from the other end of the couch. Alfred offered the mug of steaming liquid to Matthew, who took his arms out from underneath the blanket and took the mug in his hands.

Alfred sat down in the armchair opposite of Matthew. He took a big gulp of the hot drink, cringing at the burning sensation when he swallowed it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t avoid the elephant in the room. 

But, much to Alfred’s bewilderment, Matthew was the first one to address it.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Mattie, how in the world is this not my fault? I was the one that threw the puck at you! I’m really sorry.”

Alfred searched Matthew’s face for any type of reaction.

“But, it’s not your fau-” Another bout of coughs interrupted his speech, “-lt. It’s not your fault. I may be catching a small cold, so being pummelled in the gut with a puck definitely didn’t help, but it didn’t cause it. Or make it worse. I’m just, a little under the weather,” Matthew explained, careful to not leave any indication that he was leaving parts out.

“Wait. So—so it’s not my fault? I mean, are you sure? This seems a little worse than just a cold.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Oh.” The tension in Alfred’s shoulders abated a little, knowing that this wasn’t entirely his fault.

Alfred put his lips to his cup, and drank the rest of the hot chocolate in one gulp, putting the cup down on the coffee table and wiping his lips off with the back of his hand.

He stared at Matthew, who seemed to be mesmerized in the steam floating up from his drink, eventually evaporating into clear air. His brother looked so cold, the way he was trying to stay closed off as if to conserve heat, gave it away.

His hands were clasped around the mug, absorbing the heat, but he didn’t drink it, he didn’t even take a sip.

Alfred cleared his throat, “You should drink some, instead of, y’know, just staring at it.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Come on Mattie, please? It’ll warm you up from the inside.”

Apparently, that was all the persuading it took. Considering Alfred’s sternness from earlier, he wasn’t surprised.

His brother gave a feeble smile and put the cup to his lips, drinking some.

Alfred grinned, he was finally doing some good. For once, he was helping his brother instead of hurting, and damn did it feel nice.

He urged his brother to take more sips with his flashy grin, and Matthew hesitantly obliged.

“See? Was that so hard?”

Matthew offered a small smile.

Alfred could tell his younger brother was tired, his eyes drooped and his head fell forward every few seconds, snapping back up when he realized what he was doing.

Alfred—being the most considerate brother ever—fetched another blanket and gave it to Matthew, helping him lay down on the couch and propped his head up using a pillow.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Alfred said, his voice just above a whisper.

Matthew nodded, his eyes closed and his face holding a slight grimace.

That was all the confirmation Alfred needed. He grabbed a chair and scootched it closer to Matthew. He then snagged the remote from off of the coffee table and turned on the tv, going to Netflix.

He scrolled through the titles, realizing that they were way different from the movies in the states.

“Hey, where are all the good movies?”

“It’s Canadian Netflix,” Matthew said, sounding like someone had stuffed a sock in his mouth.

Alfred hummed in response. He turned his attention back to the television and eventually settled on an oldie, but a goodie, Back to the Future. The original, because it was the best, and because there weren't any of the other parts on Canadian Netflix.

He clicked the play button and watched as the title sequences played. The tv grabbed his full attention.

He tried to point something out to Matthew, but he quickly realized he was sound asleep. Alfred’s eyes lingered on Matthew, his small frame buried in blankets. His breathing was raspy and shallow, it made Alfred uncomfortable. He didn’t like that his brother wasn’t able to draw in a full breath. 

He had to admit, it was a bit weird that a common human illness was affecting him this way, but Alfred didn’t think it was worth pressing the issue.

He looked back up at the screen, letting the movie transport him back to nineteen eighty-five. He watched as Marty Mcfly helped out Doc, then got transported to thirty years in the past.

Arthur would’ve frowned upon watching such movies, saying ‘What’s the point? That can’t happen in real life! Let’s watch a documentary instead.’ Alfred never understood why he didn’t like sci-fi movies. They took you away from your own reality, transporting you to a completely different—and awesome—one.

About a third of the way into the movie, Matthew squirmed in his blankets a bit, piping up.

“Al?” Matthew said, his mouth still sounding full.

“What’s up? Are you cold, do you want another blanket?”

“No, Al, I really,” Matthew tried to sit up.

“Hey, don’t get up, I can get you whatever you need,” Alfred said, pushing his brother's shoulders back down.

“No, Al, I’m gonna,”

“What’s wrong, I’m sure I can-” Alfred stopped mid-sentence and took note of Matthew’s skin that had now taken a greenish hue.

Oh.

OH.

Alfred ripped Matthew’s blankets off, effectively scooping him up and dashing to the washroom.

He set Matthew down and opened the toilet lid, to which Matthew responded by immediately retching into the bowl.

Alfred sat on his knees beside his brother, rubbing in a circular motion on his back. Matthew tightly gripped the toilet seat, his knuckles white.

To say Alfred was worried was an understatement. The younger nation didn’t stop, he expelled all of the contents of his stomach, then kept dry-heaving.

Matthew stopped for a moment, his breaths coming out in sharp pants. Alfred let out a small breath. Maybe it was over.

Matthew leaned back over the toilet.

So much for that.

Alfred was beside himself with worry. Was it physically possible for someone to throw up this much? It seemed never-ending. He was alternating between dry-heaving and actually throwing up. What could’ve caused this?

Alfred then remembered how Matthew objected when he went to make hot chocolate, then when he had the drink, he was very hesitant to drink it.

Damn.

Matthew must’ve known that if he drank something he would throw up. Just when Alfred thought he was helping, he had just made it worse. He needed to find some way to make it better and not hurt him anymore.

After what seemed like an eternity, Matthew finally lifted his head again, this time not intending to put in back down again. His cheeks were flushed and tear-stained, the remnants of the salty water still present in the corners of his eyes.

It surprised Alfred when Matthew fell back from his knees to lean against him. Alfred didn’t resist though, he accepted Matthew’s physical touch, considering it didn’t happen often.

When they were younger, after England had conquered Canada, they used to cuddle all the time. One would never be found without the other. Most nights, Matthew would end up crawling into Alfred’s bed, complaining about being scared. Alfred was fairly sure that Matthew wasn’t really scared, but just wanted to cuddle with Alfred.

After Canada’s independence, he started becoming less and less physically affectionate as he got older. Alfred had to admit that was partly his fault. When Canada was still a colony of Britain, he was always hanging around his house, which led to Alfred seeing him more often. When he moved to Canada permanently, he ended up seeing Matthew less often, and he didn’t really make an extra effort to see him either. Without seeing Matthew regularly, he slowly grew distant. He didn’t really initiate anything, Alfred had to do it himself.

So now that Matthew was here, resting against Alfred’s chest—willingly—Alfred didn’t know whether to feel happy that his brother was initiating physical affection or concerned because it was so unlike him.

Alfred threaded his fingers through Matthew’s hair, something he used to do all the time. Matthew curled up tighter against Alfred, shivering and letting out a couple of raspy coughs. His hand found it’s way to his shirt, gripping tightly then releasing as he coughed.

Silence ensued. But it was a comfortable silence, one that felt right.

As much as Alfred wanted to stay in that moment forever, he knew that it was less than ideal. Matthew was shivering and the washroom floor wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.

“I’m gonna get you back to the couch now, m’kay? It’ll be more comfortable there.”

Matthew hummed in response.

Alfred shifted slightly, getting a better grip under Matthew, then stood up. Even though Matthew had the body of a nineteen-year-old, at this moment, it looked like he was a young teenager again, his head buried in Alfred’s chest and his fragile figure, looking as if Alfred so much as moved him in the wrong way he would break.

Alfred placed him on the couch again and stole a third blanket from one of the armchairs to cover him with. He went to sit down and resume the movie when he heard Matthew’s small voice.

“Do you think you could, um, do you think you could lay with me?”

A smile graced his lips, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The couch was quite wide, so both of the brothers were able to fit. Matthew was snuggled on top of Alfred, the former on the inside, and the latter on the outside.

Alfred pressed play and watched as Matthew snuggled in tighter. Three blankets were a bit much for Alfred, but he would do anything for his brother. Besides, he had endured the hottest summers in Texas, he was sure he could handle being under a few blankets in the winter.

Although the volume of the movie was plenty loud, Alfred couldn’t help but listen to Canada’s breathing. The way his chest barely rose and how a wheezing sound was heard when he exhaled.

Alfred directed his attention back to the movie.

Poor Matthew.

*****

“I already told you! I have more important things to be doing than playing some stupid game of hockey!” Arthur grumbled. He and Francis were on their way to Matthew’s to play a game of hockey, no thanks to Alfred. The worst part? Francis had agreed to go!

“Aw, you would rather do work than spend time with our dearest Matthieu?”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

Francis took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Arthur, “And Alfred sounded so excited on the phone, non?”

“I’m just saying, paperwork would be a more valuable way to spend my time right now.” Arthur folded his arms over his chest.

“Come on, it will be no more than two hours, and after that, we can leave,” Francis pleaded.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, “You swear?”

“On the life of King Louis the fourteenth.”

“He’s dead.”

“He lives on in my heart.”

The two nations pulled into Matthew’s driveway, behind Alfred’s car.

Arthur pushed open the passenger door, to find a pile of discarded hockey equipment. He shook his head, of course they would leave all of the equipment they didn’t need in the middle of the driveway for someone to slip on.

“Come on, the boys are probably in the back already,” Francis said, gesturing for Arthur to follow.

Arthur followed.

The former empire had received the call from Alfred the day before, asking if he’d like to play hockey at Matthew’s. Arthur was going to say no, but the pile of paperwork and the migraine blossoming in the back of his head had other ideas. Apparently headaches can cause you to make rash decisions.

Another argument on his long list of reasons why this was a bad idea was that Arthur wasn’t very fond of the snow. Sure, the cool temperatures were nothing new—although Canada tended to have colder temperatures—but snow was not a common occurrence in his home country. It was wet and made your clothes cling to you in awkward ways.

He trudged through the knee-deep snow to the river in the back, they weren’t even considerate enough to shovel a path.

Francis was the first to arrive at the bank of the river.

“Mon ami? You might want to come here,” Francis said with an edge of panic to his voice.

“What is it now, frog? Is it too cold for you, you entitled—” The words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

The nets and equipment were abandoned on the side of the bank, while pucks littered the ice. The main attraction though, was the hole on the opposite side of the river, with a broken tree branch beside it. Small chunks of ice swirled back and forth in the visible current.

Arthur tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat, “Do, do you think…”

“It could’ve been a bear?”

“You moron, that’s too small for a bear.” the words came out shakier than he intended them to.

They stared at the hole moment longer, unsure of what the next move should be.

Arthur debated the options. If—if they had fallen in, it would be unwise to abandon the river and go look elsewhere, but if they were inside, it would be worth checking, to avoid a pointless search.

Francis seemed to read his mind, “We should check inside, maybe?”

Arthur nodded, abandoning his post by the river and walking to the front door, which turned into a brisk walk, which then turned into a run, although the snow made it quite difficult to run fast.

He got to the door fairly quickly, much faster than Francis, and struggled with the doorknob for a moment before bursting in.

Arthur called out to the boys, unable to hide the panic in his voice, “Alfred?! Matthew?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Told you I wouldn't be more than two weeks ;). I originally expected this to be a shorter chapter, no more than three thousand words, but I got carried away, and now it's the longest chapter yet! It's all good though because now I don't think I could make it shorter. Also, we had a nice little perspective switch! It was definitely fun writing from Alfred's perspective, and Arthur's at the end.
> 
> And although you might think, "theyellowkoala, you can't write angst and fluff in the same chapter!" Well, I just did. I really hope it worked out. I also wrote the first part about five separate times, and this was the best version. I'm still not very happy with it (although when am I ever happy with something I wrote?) but it's better than the others. I guess it will have to do, I didn't want to wait any longer to post it.
> 
> "Tabernak" - It's a Quebecois slang for F*ck
> 
> Thanks to those who left kudos, I really appreciate it :)
> 
> And huge thanks to those who left comments/reviews! I'm serious, those make me want to keep writing.
> 
> *IMPORTANT* I don't care if you don't read the rest of the note, but if I could have your attention for about three seconds, that'd be great. So, I'm planning on writing something special for Canada day, and I need to know what you guys would prefer, since you are the readers. Would you rather:
> 
> a) A historical fic (It'd still have emotion and angst and fluff and all that good stuff, it wouldn't be just stating facts)
> 
> b) A fic like this, based in the present.
> 
> I can't say too much more, or else it will give it away, but I'd really appreciate it if you could let me know what you would prefer!
> 
> I can't stop saying thank you, the amount of people that have read this is crazy! The comments/reviews make my day, so thank you so much! Have an amazing day!
> 
> (Next update should only take a week ;))


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